


Treasure

by WatchingOne



Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Urban Fantasy, M/M, Ocean's Eleven, Slow Burn, bagginshield
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-04-13
Updated: 2015-05-16
Packaged: 2018-03-22 18:43:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 6
Words: 14,180
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3739366
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WatchingOne/pseuds/WatchingOne
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>B.B. Ganns is a down on his luck and out of work thief. And when it looks like his life can't get any worse, several...unexpected things start to happen, and several unexpected people come into his life that lead him to the greatest score of all time.</p><p>Comments welcome, appreciated and replied to!</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Out of the Hole

#  ** Out of the Hole **

Bill traced his finger lightly over the worn and nicked-up wooden table a couple of times in a circle. He shook his head. There was no way that he had heard what he thought he had heard just now, right? He looked up from the table back up at the old geezer, who smiled at him slightly and waited patiently. Man, this guy was a piece of antiquity. Where the hell did the NYPD dig him up? Bill tracked back in his head a few minutes. What the fuck did he say his name was? G-something. Shit. He usually didn't miss details like this. He must've been more buzzed from the night of drinking than he thought. He squinted in the crappy interview room light at the guy's name shield and badge again. Oh yeah, there it was.

“Did you just say that you were going to let me walk, Inspector Gandolph?” 

The old geezer leaned back, his old eyes crinkling. He tented his fingers and considered Bill for a few pregnant seconds. Then he leaned forward and got right in his face. Despite himself, Bill leaned back a little. The inspector might have been older than Methuselah, but he was a big fella. Tall and rangy, and looked like he might actually still be able to do some damage.

“No, Mr. Ganns. That's not what I said at all,” he said before leaning back in his chair again. He smiled. It was almost friendly. “What I said was; 'If you are willing to help me out with a little something,  _then_ I can get you out of here.' And I do mean tonight, of course.” His blue eyes twinkled with some kind of joke. Great. The old bastard was some kinda of comedian to boot.

Bill did the math in his head. He must've had a least a dozen outstanding warrants out. Even some for some shit that he never did. What the fuck was this guy talking about? And what kind of authority did he have to clear him out of this jam?

This night had been a total mess. Bill had gone to one of his favorite bars, not even looking for trouble. He hadn't even been active in months. No jobs, just lying low. Hell, even the name of the bar fit right in; “The Hole in the Ground”. Some dumbass yuppie had opened it in the eighties and thought it sounded quirky or some shit. Trouble was, in the neighborhood of Red Hook, quirky don't exactly fit in. That place became a pretty popular hang-out, sure. But not for turtle-neck-wearing bankers drinking highballs. Ended up more of a place for guys like Bill Ganns, sure. And lots of other like-minded folks that tended never to talk, especially to cops. But oh no, not tonight. Somebody had got it in their goddamn head to tip the five-oh that he was out and about. Probably looking for a reduced sentence or some lame crap. What a total sack.

They had picked him up without a struggle and dragged him to this boring-ass interview room where they had let him stew for a few hours before grandpa showed up. Bill almost laughed when he first saw him. Guy had to have been pushing seven feet, wearing a cheap suit that he somehow managed to buy three sizes too big for him. It hung off him like a rag. He had a long grey beard and hair that he had bundled up in tails. Guy looked friendly enough, but he also seemed to be watching a different movie than everyone else....kinda not all there, so to say. And he was also a bit stereotypical. He did the typical “folder drop” for starters, thumping down the overstuffed manilla envelope in front of Bill's nose, flipping through Bill's records, shaking his head like it was supposed to intimidate him or something. And then out of freaking nowhere he dropped this bomb.

There had to be a serious catch here. Or this guy was dirty. Bill looked him over again. Nah. A dirty cop wouldn't be wearing clothes that looked like they got dragged through the street. Then what the hell.....?

Inspector Gandolph was still watching him intently. Geez, didn't this guy ever blink? “Mr. Ganns, “ he said slowly, enunciating every syllable. “Time is a factor here.”

Bill cleared his throat. “Right. OK. So. I do you a 'favor', and then that's it? I walk? Sorry, Inspector, but I smell a serious rat here. What exactly are we talking about here?”

The old man smiled again, stood up and walked to the door. He looked up at the corner of the room and walked over to the camera. He glanced up into it, turned around to watch Bill, and with a swift motion that Bill could barely catch, yanked the video cable out of it. 

Bill half stood up “What the hell, man...?”

The inspector held up a hand to calm him down. “Sit down, Mr. Ganns, it's OK. I'm not going to hurt you. I just don't want....let's just say I want to keep this strictly between us.”

Bill swallowed. An idea had entered his head involving 'favors' and 'privacy'. “Man, I hope you ain't talking about what I think you're talking about....”

The old man squinted hard and shook his head. “Don't worry. You aren't my type.” He smiled and sat down. “Not that you aren't a  _very_ handsome man, Mr. Ganns, but this is a business proposition.”

Oh yeah, regular comedian this guy. Bill let out a breath. “Ok, business then. Let's talk.”

Inspector Gandolph raised his eyebrows. “Hm. Allright. Business then.” He moved back to the table and sat heavily back down. Bill could've sworn he saw dust coming off the old coot. “I find myself in the role of a recruiter, so to say, Mr. Ganns. I have an...acquaintance that has requested, quite urgently I might add, someone that had, well, someone that had your particular _skill set_ .” He leveled his steely blue eyes at Bill and studied him, waiting for a reply.

Bill smiled. “Someone with my exact skill set, 'so to say', ” Bill answered mockingly. When he didn't get a rise out of the old man, he sighed and continued, tracing his finger in a circle over the table again. “And which of my particular 'skills' would your 'acquaintance' be interested in, Inspector? Cause I gotta say. A lot of 'em ain't exactly on the up-and-up....but you've read my file there,” Bill smiled, indicating the massive folder.

Inspector Gandolph smiled at him. “This job isn't exactly on the 'up-and-up', as you say, Mr. Ganns.”

_Sonuvabitch._ This guy was actually dirty, then. Man, he was off his game. Bill thought he could spot a dirty cop before they knew it themselves. What the hell had he drunk at the bar? Gandolph was waiting for an answer, so Bill cleared his throat and went into sales mode.

“I dunno Inspector. I mean, I get why you would want to cut the video and all, but couldn't you have picked a better spot to have this conversation? That's my first thought. And I don't like it. Do you know why?”

Gandolph leaned back, eyes sparkling. “Enlighten me, Mr. Ganns.”

Bill grinned tightly and sucked in air through his teeth. “It means that you haven't planned things out. It means that you don't play the game a few moves ahead. It means that whatever I might end up agreeing to do for you can get me in a lot more trouble than I'm in now, ya know what I mean?”

Gandolph looked at the file on the table, and idly thumbed through the first few pages. He looked up seriously. “Oh, I seriously doubt that, Mr Ganns,” he deadpanned.

Bill leaned back and sighed. Yeah. Good point. “I gotta know how dangerous it's gonna be before I agree to anything. And hey, I haven't said no to anything yet, either. But I gotta warn you, there are levels here.” Bill was getting to the heart of the sales-pitch now. Now was where he'd see how desperate this guy really was. “Level 1. I do my regular thing. You get whatever you're after. I walk. Everyone's happy. The end. I got no problems with level 1. Level 2. I gotta do shit that I ain't used to doing. And that's more work. You still get your goods, and I walk. That means you're happy, but I ain't, on account of all the extra work. That means I'm going to need more...incentive.” At this, Bill raised his eyebrows. The Inspector didn't react at all. So far, so good. “And then there's the dreaded Level 3, “ Bill said tipping his chair back on two legs and propping his feet on the table. “Level 3 means I gotta do every-fucking-thing. Like, my normal job,” he started ticking off on his fingers. “Everybody else's fucking job. And also all the heavy planning. I  _hate_ fucking Level 3, Inspector G. I fucking hate it. Cause it means I'm dealing with people that can get me hurt or killed. And I gotta tell you,” Bill said, sweeping his arm out indicating the room. “Using a goddamned  _police_ interview room for an talk like this is telling me that I'm going to be up past my ass in Level 3 with you and your 'acquaintance' on this job. And for  _that_ , those incentives that I mentioned? The get pretty frikkin serious.” He stopped talking and cooly stared down the Inspector. Game time.

“What can I do for you, Mr. Ganns?” Gandolph replied easily.

Bill smiled. Yeah, he was going to like this job. “Let's talk about that later, Inspector. First things first. Let's see if you can really get me the hell out of this hole, and then let's go meet this 'acquaintance' of yours.”   
  


Less than a half-hour later they stepped out of the 12 th Precinct into a windy as hell New York night. Bill took in a deep breath through his nose. The wonderful mix of smells unique to the city reached him. Damn. An hour ago he was getting used to the idea of being locked up in a federal prison for the rest of his life. He looked up appraisingly at the Inspector, who had bundled himself up in a big grey trenchcoat that, laughingly, was also three sizes to big for him. Somebody needed to take this guy to some better stores. On second thought, Bill considered, looking over him again, someone needed to keep him from scrounging through the Goodwill bins. But still, the old man had some serious sway. He was out.

They took a cab to SoHo instead of the subway. It was, Bill thought, the first smart thing he'd seen the geezer do. Bill could've lost him in a heartbeat on the New York subway. He also stayed awfully close to him. Bill wondered for a while as to whether he could even try to bolt before one of those branch-like arms snatched him back. He recalled the old man yanking out that video cable and decided that no, he really couldn't. He would keep an eye out, though. He always did. Opportunity always presented itself if you kept looking in every corner, every detail, under every rock. And the second he could, he was out the door. Unless this turned out to be be one helluva job. For that, he'd stick around. Worth a shot.

They got out of the cab in front of a shabby awning leading into an old brownstone pub. Bill glanced up at the sign. “King's Cellar” was etched into a brass plaque. Bill shrugged. The walked down a flight of stairs into a cozy, busy, smoke filled room. Bill was instantly impressed, since smoking in most public bars and restaurants had been outlawed for years. This place was going to be allright. The clientele was pretty upscale also. He took a longer look around and then caught the Inspector watching him.

“Ready when you are, Mr Ganns.”

 


	2. Dinner Party

#  ** Dinner Party **

“Lead on, it's your show,” Bill gestured magnanimously, affecting a toothy grin and bowing. Gandolph huffed and muttered something before sweeping forward into the pub, jostling Bill along with him.

They got to the back wall where a couple of doors apparently led off to other parts of the club- back rooms and such. The Inspector stepped up to one of them that was being guarded by a gorilla looking dude wearing a modern radio ear-piece and who was openly advertising that he was  _very_ well armed. He nodded at the old man, glanced down briefly at Bill and stepped aside. Gandolph opened the door and they went in.

There was a large table there filled with the remnants of what had been an equally large dinner. Bill's stomach rumbled involuntarily. Damn, they could have a least fed him also. He looked longingly at the empty plates and wondered how long it had been since he had actually ate something. Felt like an eternity. He stopped daydreaming and focused on who was at the table. A couple of bimbos, 'natch. A couple of other hired muscle types were there, and then a couple of guys that must've been mob lieutenants or something - because there was no way this group of guys wasn't connected - and in the middle, what must've been the boss-man. He was a broad-shouldered guy with long hair and a hawk-like brow. Bill watched him carefully for a minute. They were all laughing and bullshitting around, nothing serious. Bill didn't recognize him, which was strange, because he was pretty in-the-know on who was who in the local mafia. They had to be imports or something. Well, Bill thought, that made sense. That was one thing they could definitely use him for - getting a lay of the land and a list of the local players.

He noticed that the leader had glanced up at them and had wiped his hands on his napkin before standing up. He gestured with a wave for them to sit down next to him. Bill took his hands out of his pockets and moved to sit down. He took a closer look at the boss. Long, dark hair pulled back in a pony-tail. Muscular with broad shoulders underneath a nice suit. Deep blue eyes....Bill caught himself right there. He steadied himself and looked very purposefully at the painting decorating the wall. He couldn't afford that. 

Criminals were a macho as hell group, more than literally any other....except maybe NASCAR drivers....and a lot of reasons Bill didn't join crews for extended jobs was right there. Too personal. And Bill figured it was definitely no one else's frikkin business unless he wanted it to be. Those were his details. And what belonged to him....

“Hello...?”, came the question pointedly from the boss. Bill started and looked away from the wall to catch him watching him. His eyebrows were raised questioningly and his hand was literally hanging in the air for a introductory shake. Shit. Bill was on fucking Pluto or somewhere.

“Sorry, sorry. B.B. Ganns, “ Bill recovered, shaking the boss' hand vigorously. He played it cool, pretending he was thinking about literally anything else. Wasn't hard, he'd played this game a million times.

The guy smiled and leaned back in his chair. “Ken Shields,” he introduced himself. “You've come very highly recommended, Mr. Ganns...or should I call you B.B.?”

Bill smiled pleasantly back. 'Ken Shields' my ass, he thought to himself. No problems, aliases were pretty standard. At least this guy was thinking ahead. “Bill is fine, Mr. Shields.”

“Ken, then, for my part,” the boss replied. Bill glanced back at Inspector Gandolph, who was lighting up a pipe and watching them both beneath hooded, bushy eyebrows. Bill shook his head in disbelief. A pipe. Seriously. Which century did he really come from?

“So, what is it that you've heard about me?”, Bill asked amiably, pouring himself a glass of water from a pitcher on the table. A couple of waiters had moved into the room and had started to clean up. Bill caught himself glancing at the empty plates.

“Did you want something to eat?”, Ken said, watching Bill. Didn't miss details either, this one. Bill answered almost purely on instinct.

“Oh hell yes. I haven't had a thing since yesterday I think. Um.....if it isn't too much trouble there, Ken.”

Ken smiled. “No trouble at all, Bill. It was hard to miss, actually. And believe me, you're going to want to be one-hundred percent tonight.”

Bill smiled, but raised his eyebrows quizzically. “Tonight? What happens tonight?” Holy shit, they couldn't be planning to steal something in the same day, right? No planning? He wasn't some kind of shitty smash-and-grab thug. He was an expert thief.

Gandolph took a deep draw on his pipe and let out a small cough. Bill turned a bit in surprise as the smoke reached his nose. That was not exactly tobacco in that pipe. Full of surprises that guy.

“Relax, Bill, it's going to be a lot of information to absorb, we won't be doing anything solid yet, “ replied Ken, raising a finger in the air and gesturing one of the waiters over. “Whatever he wants, “ he said, pointing at Bill. “On the menu or off it.”

Bill drew in a breath. Generous. Thank god he wasn't going to be working for an asshole. “I'd kill for a steak, actually.”

“How would you like that cooked, sir?”, the waiter asked. Bill paused. He wasn't used to the first-class treatment. He needed to adjust. And fast. Crews got nervous when someone didn't fit right in.

“Bloody as hell. And a baked potato with the works. And a glass of Nozzole. Preferably 2000, if you got it.”

The waiter jotted down his order with a smile and a nod and moved off briskly. Ken was watching him with what looked like satisfaction. Bill smiled back. “So, back to my original question...?”

“Yeah, so I heard that you, obviously, were an extraordinary thief.” Bill shrugged and put up his hands to the side, palms up in agreement and mock modesty. “I also heard, “ Ken continued more carefully, “that you had an unique ability to almost disappear when you need to. The Inspector tells me there are cases in your file that have driven several forensics departments nuts trying to figure out as to how you pulled them off.”

Bill smiled again. “Well, happy to hear it second-hand, Ken. I worked real hard building that rep. But...don't expect me to tell you how it's done. A good magician and all....”

Ken smiled tightly, still regarding Bill carefully. “That's an attribute that I'm going to be counting on, Bill. I really hope you can deliver.”

Bill leaned forward conspiratorially. “Do you want a demonstration, Ken? That restaurant out there is full of marks. Tell me what you want and from which one, and I'll have it back to you in less than three minutes.”

Ken breathed out deeply and sat back. “Slowly, Bill, we do this slowly.” He reached across the table and took the pipe from Gandolph, taking a deep draw and closing his eyes before leaning back and relaxing. He let out the smoke in a stream and handed it over to Bill, who, shrugging, took it from him. They'd be hard pressed to get him screwed up, he was pretty tolerant to party favors.

He took a big hit of the pipe and instantly regretted it. He practically fell under the table in a coughing fit. The buzz hit him in less than a second like a run-away freight train. He looked at the pipe in his hands like it was a snake, then back up in puzzlement at the smiling faces of Gandolph and Ken. What the fuck was in that pipe?

“Holy....”, he started.

“Yeah, I'm actually surprised you didn't fall right over, “ Ken half-laughed reaching over the table to take the pipe back. Bill handed it back happily. He was as lit as he cared to get for the night already. “Old Tobey here is serious stuff.”

Bill smiled involuntarily back. “How're we supposed to be concentrating on jack shit tonight now?”, he laughed. 

Ken folded his arms and leaned back in his chair. “For the next half hour or so, all you need to concentrate on is your steak. This is the interview. I need to know that we can work together.”

Bill took a big gulp of water and looked up. God, dark skin, blue eyes, holy shit....crap...crap! “Um, so how'm I doin do far?”; he slurred out. Shit. His buzz was actually growing.

Ken let out a barking laugh. “Yeah, no problem, Bill. At least I know you won't be the nervous type.” He drank a big gulp of beer and slumped his shoulders forward. Something in his demeanor had very suddenly changed. Bill frowned. He looked back at Gandolph, who watched Ken carefully.

Bill fought back an urge to ask Ken what was up. Better let him talk, leave it all up to him. Bill learned a long time ago that if you let people talk, you learned more, and they would never stop blabbing. He took a long drink and watched Ken out of the side of his eyes.

Finally, Ken looked up. “I'm going to show you something Bill, something that I guarantee you've never seen before....”

Gandolph practically stood up. “Thorton!”, he exclaimed loudly. Bill wrinkled his forehead.  _Thorton_ ....?

Ken raised his eyes to the Inspector. He had a very dangerous fire burning in them. “ _Ken_ ...if you please,  _Inspector_ ...”, he practically hissed. Bill watched everything with avid interest. They were letting down some walls already. Strange shit was going on here.

“And I'll show him this when I've decided to show him this,” Ken continued. “He's going to have to deal with it sooner or later.” He regarded Bill with a hawkish glare. “And I've already decided on sooner.”

Gandolph looked like he was trying to stare a hole in Ken, but he finally sighed, relented and sat heavily back down. He shook his head slowly and turned back to consider Bill. He seemed to be measuring him. Bill stared back. Gandolph didn't say a word.

“What?!”, Bill finally blurted out, exasperated. “What the fuck is so goddamned important that you guys are jumping out of your freaking skin here?”

Gandolph looked back at Ken, who was slumping again. Luckily, at that moment, his steak got there. Bill let out a breath of relief and let himself get distracted by the meal. Ken seemed to have let the subject drop for the moment, and Gandolph was muttering to himself incomprehensibly and smoking more from that pipe of his. Bill watched in amazement as he chewed and wondered how that old geezer could handle it at all. Must have arthritis or some shit.

He took a last gulp of wine as he finished his food and looked up at Ken, who had been kind of drifting for the last few minutes or so. Or had he? Bill had trouble remembering if he had asked him how the food was, or if they had talked about anything at all. Great. His short term memory was shot. Should he have been talking? Super, he realized. Getting a serious case of paranoia too. That smoke was too damned strong. What had Ken just asked him? He took a sip of water and found himself staring at Ken. Oh shit, no, he couldn't do that either. He looked down at the table. Was he supposed to be answering something....? Damn, that was a good steak.

Gandolph stood up and moved to the door. He stood by it for a second and locked it. Bill looked lazily around. At some point during his dinner the rest of the room had cleared out. Gandolph crossed his arms and waited, looking tense. Ken looked up and met Bill's eyes.

“What I'm about to show you,well, you're going to need to make your decision right now. Are you with us? And I mean, all the way. No hedging. No backstabbing. No running. If you back out of this, Bill....”

Bill swallowed. He'd heard this speech before. Pretty standard. Criminals were paranoid, and for good reason. They trusted only with extreme trepidation. But the fact that he was getting this speech already meant that Ken had decided to trust him. He was on the crew, if he wanted to be. He felt pretty good about it. They hadn't let loose a goaddamned thing about the details of the job loose. That was a really, really good sign. Most criminals were proud. And loud-mouthed about it. These guys, on the other hand, were smart and careful. Both good things. He also had to admit that he was curious. This wasn't some run-of-the-mill heist. At least it didn't look like one. For one, the cops were in on it, and that usually meant a serious score. Insider info and such. And this guy 'Ken'....he was pretty classy. Fed him, didn't hassle him, and he was smart, Bill could tell that from the second he met him.

Bill got up and moved to Ken's side. Ken watched him. He extended his hand.

“Mr. Shields. You have engaged my services.”

Ken's eyes crinkled up in a smile. His sullen mood lifted and he shook Bill's hand eagerly.

“Excellent. Excellent! Inspector?”, Ken looked over Bill's shoulder at Gandolph, who was looking rather relieved. “You have truly never let me down. He's in. We have our burglar.”

 


	3. The Job

#  The Job

Ken reached into his pocket and pulled something out of it. Something that he kept hidden under his palm. His face grew somber again and he started to speak, not looking up.

“Bill....what I'm about to show you....few people have ever seen. It can have an...well, an effect on some people, so I'm going to need you to keep it together for me, OK?” He looked up then and met Bill's eyes. He was as serious as Bill had ever seen anyone. He nodded.

Ken sighed deeply and slowly turned his hand over. There was a glint of metal and Bill stared closely. There was an old, round coin in Ken's hand. He leaned closer. Gold, maybe? The markings on it were some kind of Eastern or Arabic shit that Bill couldn't read at all. There was also a hammer etched into the surface. He caught himself reaching out his hand to take it, not blinking, not even breathing, like it was some kind of wild animal that he didn't want to spook. He stopped himself and looked up at Ken.

“May I?” He asked, holding out his hand.

Ken shook his head slowly. “Sorry, look but don't touch, Bill. Those are the rules. I can't...”, he looked up at Gandolph, who was still standing by the door, watching.” I can't take that risk, Bill. Let's say this coin may be like, poisonous, OK?”

Bill tilted his head slightly. “But...you, you're holding it.”

Ken smiled. “I've got my shots. It's allright for me.” His eyes flicked back down to the coin. “So, impressions?”

Bill kept watching Ken. Weird as fuck. What was with the BS story? Was he afraid he'd steal the thing right there? He shrugged and turned his eyes back to the coin. Ken wanted his opinion on it. Well, shit. He was pretty good with most antiquities. What the fuck, he could give it a shot at least.

He examined the etching again and the degree of decay. He could make out some kind of symbol on it. A big hammer. Like from a forge. The coin was old, that was obvious. The sheen on the surface that wasn't degraded was pretty effin remarkable, too. It was some of the smoothest gold he'd ever seen. It seemed to draw in all of the light in the room and reflect it back with incredible luster. He leaned closer. There was a smell coming from it as well. Now that was pretty strange. What was that? It was almost like....was Ken saying something to him....?

“Mr Ganns, “ Ken had caught his wrist with his free hand. Bill stared dumbly down. He had been reaching for the coin again and didn't even fucking realize it. He took a deep breath and leaned way back, getting some distance to that thing. 

Ken nodded knowingly. “Hell of a thing, isn't it Bill?” Bill let out a breath.

“Yeah. Yeah, you could definitely say that. What the shit, Ken? What can I say? Sorry. Won't happen again.”

Ken smiled at him. “Don't worry about it Bill. I've seen worse with coins from this particular horde.” He put it back in his pocket. Bill caught himself marking it's position for a chance maybe at a possible lift....and shook his head. No.  _Drop that thought right this second, Bill_ , he thought to himself. “Confession, Bill,” Ken said, interrupting Bill's train of thought. “It's me that should be apologizing to you. We actually got you kind of messed up on purpose. It seems to....help with this sort of thing. Sorry.”

Bill found himself grinning. Someone was apologizing to him for getting him buzzed? That was new. But this gold coin shit. That was some seriously weird shit.

“I'm afraid I can't really tell you that much about the coin, though, Ken. I've never seen anything like it before. Actually, that is saying something. Cause I got an eye for this kind of shit. And I would've remembered that thing.”

Ken smiled. “I would be very surprised if you had, actually. Doesn't matter. Tell me what you did see.” 

Bill considered for a second before answering. “Really fucking hard to date. Some kinda ancient civilization.” He watched Ken, who raised his eyebrows and held out his open palm.

“Continue,” Ken said slowly.

“There was also a weird smell, I couldn't quite place it....almost like.. charred? Kinda burned or something.”

At this Ken leaned all the way forward. He looked up at Gandolph and smiled. “Impressive. Very, very impressive.”

Bill shrugged. “I haven't really told you jack shit, Ken. I hope that information isn't important to he job.”

Ken shook his head. “No, not really. I already know what it is. I wanted to get a feel for your observational skills. How well you mark things that are...well, not really normal.”

Bill squinted. “Not normal? What do you mean. It's a gold coin, right?” When Ken stared back, Bill asked again. “Right?”

Ken smiled, slapped the table, stood up and moved to a door at the rear of the room. Gandolph joined them. “Here's where it gets really interesting, Bill. Ready?”

With a shrug, Bill got up from the table towards the door. “Yeah, sure ,why not?” He figured that whatever they were talking about couldn't be as strange as they were making it out to be. But, that coin, that thing was pretty weird. He'd never seen gold of that quality before.

Ken opened the door with a key and a sequence of numbers on an electronic pinpad. Bill noticed with satisfaction that Ken remembered to keep his hand over the numbers, not forgetting that Bill was standing right there. Another point for Ken for his awareness.

They stepped through the door directly into a carpeted staircase leading down. Ken flicked a light switch. The walls were spartan, whitewashed, but otherwise clean. There was a musty odor coming up from below them. Bill wrinkled his nose and followed Ken and the Inspector, who had already started down.

Bill observed that the carpet was pretty well-worn. The staircase had been used quite a bit. And recently, he also observed, noting the frays and dirty shoe tracks.

They reached the bottom of the stairs after a good long walk and Ken entered a code at another door. This one was made out of solid metal, Bill admired. Not a single seam or crack visible. This door had been built to last. He noticed that the door was also set in solid bedrock. No one, not even Bill, was going to be getting to whatever was behind here without some serious effort. Or about a half a ton of C4, Bill smirked.

Ken looked back and smiled. “Ready, Bill? We're about to go through the looking glass, as the expression goes.”

“Lead on, Dorothy,” Bill quipped back.

“It's 'Alice', actually, Bill, but don't ever call me that,” Ken joked back. Bill felt himself warm all over.

“Yeah, sue me,” Bill answered. “my childhood was a fucked up thing.”

Ken kept his smile and opened the door. Gandolph placed a steady hand on Bill's shoulder. Bill turned his head slightly and frowned. What did he need reassurance for? “You think I'm going somewhere there, Detective?”, he asked quietly.

Gandolph kept his hand there. “Just a precaution, Mr. Ganns, I assure you,” he replied dryly.

Bill shook his head vigorously. “Whatever, you old kook, “ he answered impatiently. He turned his head back to the door, and saw that Ken had already gone inside. He walked forward, and Gandolph walked with him, his hand staying annoyingly right there on his shoulder.

He walked through the door and was suddenly very glad that that hand was there. He felt his knees go weak and his head spin. His jaw dropped open as his eyes darted around the vast underground chamber, trying to get a grip on what he was seeing. His ears rang with an electronic thrum.

Ken stood on a metal scaffolding, his hands gripping the rail tightly. In front of him was an underground vault that Bill could not see the end of. There were marble columns supporting a ceiling that also went on seemingly forever.  _What the fuck...?_ Bill's mind started automatically doing the math. That was physically impossible. The club was right over them, wasn't it? And New York....the thought ran it's course as his eyes came back to what had originally made him almost pass out. The entire vast chamber was literally piled with gold coins. There must have been a billion of them. Bill could hardly think. What in the fuck was he looking at?

“It's my family's fortune, Bill,” Ken said softly. Bill hadn't realized that he had spoken that last question aloud. He took a slower breath, trying to calm down.

“Ken....this is all...yours?”, Bill answered, his voice hoarse. “How....how much is that?”

Ken turned slowly back to him. Bill noticed with surprise that there were tears in his eyes. “It was mine, Bill. It's rightfully mine. It's been, well, one could say, hijacked”

Bill looked back out and stepped forward to the railing. Gandolph released his shoulder. He scanned all around and saw no signs of security or lock vaults or...well...anything.

“Ken, seriously, what the fuck are you talking about?” Bill spun around, his arm waving out at the chamber. “It's right frikkin here! More gold that the world's ever seen before, right frikkin' here!”

Ken smiled weakly. “I'm sorry Bill, but you had to at least see it first so you could get an idea of what I was talking about.”

Bill turned back around. Big vault. Check. Tons of gold. Check. “Um, OK, Ken, I've got an idea now....now, help me out here, why exactly can't you just take it?”

Ken's smile faded as he walked over to a wall and flipped back a panel. He entered a code and Bill heard a sound like a generator powering down. Bill noticed that the electronic thrum that he had thought was only in his head was fading as well.

The scene in front of Bill flickered and began to dissolve. Bill's eyes widened as a room began to resolve itself in front of him instead. There was a full glass partition separating the entrance where Bill was standing and them, and it was apparently where the image had been projected. It was a white walled, white tiled, very sterile looking room filled with computer stations and manned by about a dozen tech guys. Some of the guys he had figured were mob lieutenants were down here as well, and a couple of them looked up and nodded at them when Ken opened the door. Ken sighed sadly and moved into the room, waving Bill and Gandolph in as well.

Bill's head was actually spinning worse now. He had seen some pretty bad ass security tech in his time, and even a couple of those new 'Ultra Real-D' films, but he had never seen anything as realistic as that chamber before. It was perfect down to every single detail. That kind of tech was impossible, wasn't it?

Ken lead them to a small office at the back of the room separated by a glass door from the main room. Bill wrinkled his forehead in confusion at the initials “T.O.” engraved on it, but moved on. He had heard the inspector call Ken “Thorton” or something at the dinner table. Maybe that was his real name. Ken walked into the small but cozy office space and seated himself behind a wooden desk. There were a couple of chairs there for Gandolph and Bill. Bill gratefully and heavily sat down in one of them.

Ken was watching him carefully as Bill had his head in his hands. “Ken, Ken...man, what in the ever-loving fuck was that? There is no virtual reality as good as what I just saw, even with the military.”

Ken reached into his desk a pulled out an unmarked bottle and a few glasses. He gave a knowing smile to Bill and poured out three drinks. Bill accepted the drink happily but wasn't happy his question hadn't been answered.

“I'm waiting Ken.”

There was a long pause as Ken considered, swirling his drink and taking a deep sip before setting it back with a thud on the desk. “We have some pretty impressive toys here, Bill. And believe me, we're going to need them to get my inheritance back.”

Bill rubbed his eyes with his entire hand, losing patience. “Ken, I know that I agreed to be a part of this, whatever  _this_ is, but there are some very big gaps in your story. First off, where in the hell has that much gold been stashed without anyone ever hearing about it? Let's start there. Answer that one and maybe I'll feel a bit better.”

“That's actually a more complicated answer than you think, Bill,” Ken replied evenly.

“Please, Ken, try me. I have got to have a least  _one_ question answered.”

Ken considered Bill's gaze for a long time before speaking. “Inspector, you want to handle this one?”

Inspector Gandolph cleared his throat and stirred in his chair. “Oh, thank you so very much, Mr. Shields,” he grumbled. Ken raised his eyebrows.

“Hey, it was  _your_ idea to bring in an outsider in on this, Inspector, by all means, explain this to him,” Ken held out his palm towards Bill.

Gandolph frowned and looked at Bill seriously for a second and grumbled under his breath.

Bill shifted uncomfortably in his chair. What was the problem here? “Look, fellas, I'm not some rookie here, OK? Let me hear it already.”

“Do you believe in curses, Mr. Ganns?” Gandolph said plainly. Bill watched his face for signs of a joke.  _Oh hell_ , he thought,  _he's actually serious_ ....

“Geezus, did I wander into a Dungeons and Dragons convention or something, what's with this curse crap?”, Bill shot back.

There was immediately a loud coughing fit from Ken. The inspector raised his eyebrows at him impatiently until he stopped. Ken wiped a tear from his eye, holding back a smile and chuckling into his closed fist.

“Sorry, Inspector, please continue,” he said, a weird expression of amusement on his face.

The inspector rubbed at his forehead, obviously not enjoying Ken's little joke. “Fine, Mr. Ganns. You don't have to believe me, if you choose.” He cleared his throat again and clasped his hands behind his back. “Obviously, even as sheltered as your childhood must have been, you are familiar with some of the more popular myths and legends of fantasy, yes?”

Bill leaned slowly forward in his chair, his hands under his chin, looking up at Gandolph. “”Holeeey shit,” he started slowly. “This  _is_ some kind of Dungeons and Dragons convention, isn't it? Inspector, how much of that shit did you smoke back there?”


	4. The Story Behind the Story

# The Story Behind the Story

Gandolph huffed and settled back in his chair. “He's not going to believe a word of this, is he?”, he asked Ken rhetorically.

Ken leaned back and steepled his fingers, his face growing more serious. “Maybe he doesn't have to. Bill? I'm going to make you a proposition.”

 _Oh no,_ thought Bill. That never works out well. He tried not to look nervous.

Ken opened up a desk drawer and Bill involuntarily jumped a bit when his hand came out and slapped something down on the table. He let out a breath when he saw it was a large stack of money.

“Bill, this is a deposit. Take it,” Ken said levelly, fixing him with his eyes. “Twenty-thousand, and all you gotta do is listen to the Inspector here tell you a story. After he's done, I'll tell you exactly when and where and how we're going to try to get my gold back. After that, it's up to you. You can take the twenty large and walk out. No questions. No double crosses. That's it. Game. Twenty-thousand in one night.” Ken finished and leaned back, his stare intense. Bill swallowed hard. They were nuts. They had to be frikking nuts. Dangerous kinds of nuts. He looked around again and out of the door at the computer terminals and team of people hard at work analyzing data. Something didn't add up. He fucking hated it when shit didn't add up. If they were all loons, they were unbelievably well equipped and well educated loons. What the hell? He looked at Ken again more closely, hoping to see some spoiled rich kid off on some kind of power trip playing robbers. Nope. Ken's eyes told a whole different kind of story. There was some kind of deep hurt there. The real kind, nothing exaggerated by a sheltered life. And intelligence. Bill shook his head slowly and rubbed a hand over his face. This absolutely did not add up. He was stuck playing their game. Another thing he absolutely fucking hated.

“Fine, Ken, “ he finally said slowly, looking at the floor. “Fine. But I'm going to save you some trouble, if you'll let me. There is damned near a one-hundred-percent chance I would take that money and walk. Or try to. Every single _reasonable_ sense I've got tells me that there is no frikkin' way you just let me walk outta here with that much scratch, so I'm going to eat a few bullets if I try it.” He raise his head and looked Ken in the eyes. “So, I want to make a counter-proposal, if that's OK with you.”

Ken narrowed his eyes but didn't respond. He opened up his hand for Bill to continue.

“Keep the money. Tell me whatever story it is you have to tell me. And then let me decide what to do after that. But just let me walk. I'm not going to get into a frikkin' debate right now about whether you're a 'man of your word' and all that shit. I'm not questioning you. I'm playing the odds of me making it out of here alive. That's it. I swear. I don't think you're worried about me blabbing about any of this crazy ass shit to anyone, because, well, yeah...” Bill waved his hand dramatically around at the whole room. “Besides, you already know my background, and I'd like to believe that somewhere there is the fact that I never, _ever_ , squeal.” Bill stayed leaning forward in his chair, his hands clasped together. He almost looked like he was praying.

Ken watched him for a long time before slowly sliding the money back into the drawer. He rapped his knuckles lightly on the wooden desk, a small smile forming on his lips. “Fair, enough, Bill. I like your instincts. It's solid thinking.” Ken smiled tightly and leaned back. “So, Inspector, I think it's past time we got started, don't you?”

Inspector Gandolph stood up and moved to the desk. With Bill having to crane his neck up at him, he felt very much like a child who was about to be read a story.

“The gold and the vault containing it was stolen from Mr. Shields' ancestors a long time ago. A _very_ long time ago,” Gandolph raised his bushy eyebrows for emphasis. “The original circumstances of that robbery are unimportant now. What is important is that the gold is still there, locked away in that vault. The problem is, it has remained there for, well, also a very long time....” Ken refilled the inspector's glass and Gandolph took a large swig of it, coughing slightly.

“You've noticed the so called 'high-tech' we employ here. It has a purpose, Mr. Ganns. We are going to need every bit of it. And more. Because this vault is uncannily well protected. It is, to be sure, not impossible to break into. And over the course of recorded history, the treasure has been plundered. Several times as a matter of fact. The Aztecs, for one. A mystical priest named Quetzalcoatl, whose legend later turned him into a deity among his people, broke into it, and turned his cities to gold. I don't think I have to give you a history lesson as to what happened to that entire civilization afterwards. Earlier, the treasure was robbed by Egyptian priests, using codes hidden in their Books of Life and Death. They figured out a way in, and their Pharaohs carried the gold with them into the afterlife. Or at least, so they thought. The Pharoahs manged their kingdoms for many years after that, but even that came crashing down. And now, anyone un-earthing those treasures meet with very....unfortunate, and always fatal, circumstance. In modern times, remnants of the hoard existed in Nazi bank vaults and now at Fort Knox. I want you to listen carefully, Mr. Ganns. When I mentioned that the gold is cursed, I was not exaggerating. Let history be your teacher. Disaster has followed every ruler and every civilization and just about every person that has been in prolonged contact with this gold. Without exception.”

Bill felt like he was listening to a science fiction story, but didn't interrupt. Obviously, this crap was important to them, and it'd be better if they just got it out of the way so he could get the hell out of here and grab a drink. Or ten.

“You just said Fort Know, didn't you? Nothing disastrous has happened to America, right?”, Bill smirked.

“There was a muted snort from behind the desk. “Have you seen Detroit lately?”, Ken muttered, taking a shot of his drink.

Gandolph sighed. “America was taken off of the gold standard in the 1920's because someone with connections and knowledge figured it out. But that's another story alltogether.”

“Yeah, right,” Bill smiled. _Yep, nut jobs_ .

“Our biggest problem, actually, is locating the actual vault. We've never been able to pinpoint it's location.”

Bill scratched his head. “Then what the hell was that shit on the virtual reality screen that you showed me? If you don't know where it is, how did you get a picture of it? Or did you guys make up all that shit also?”

The inspector sighed and drained his drink. “What would be the point of our going out of our way to put on a fake show for you, Mr. Ganns? You're a thief, and a good one, but there are better ones out there. And you know we can afford them, you've seen that with your own eyes. If you can give me a logical answer for why we'd be wasting time with you on _any_ of this, I will stop right now and you can go.”

Bill hesitated. He racked his brain. Nope, nothing at all. Jack shit. He shook his head. Why would they be doing this? Even if they were crazy, were they all crazy? In the exact same way? A thought began creeping into his head that he absolutely wanted nothing to do with. Maybe they're actually on the goddamned level and there's a gigantic pile of gold somewhere? He shook his head harder. No fucking way....

“OK, ok, you got me there, that would be a hell of a lot of effort, and for absolutely nothing. Still doesn't answer my question, though. Where's the picture from?”

Ken spoke up. “We've been collecting and collating data from literally thousands of sources from centuries of reports. The image that you saw is a computer rendering of that information. We've verified it's appearance against...other sources. It's legit, Bill. That's the interior of the vault. But like the Inspector said, that's the icing on the cake. The real problem is finding the damned thing.”

Bill scratched his head. “See? I can't really help you there, guys. I'm more of an expert of getting into places that I can actually find first....” he quipped. Gandolph snorted.

“Leave the finding to us, Bill. We're finally ready to move forward on that end. We had to wait...a while. But the waits over. Once we get there, which, in and of itself will be a challenge, we're going to be needing that ability of yours to get into places _unseen_ , if you catch my drift. We'll provide the entire layout, including security schematics and possible escape routes. Down to the letter, guaranteed. But you're our inside man, Bill, that's the deal.”

“And what happens if I do get spotted or nabbed?”, Bill asked. Some crews had rules about a member getting picked up. Mostly the idea was they would be under orders to clam up and rot in prison for a long time. Some crews made exceptions to that rule, and arranged for crack legal teams and the sort. Bill was kind of hoping for the latter. He'd done time before, and wasn't all that crazy about repeating the experience.

He noticed that it had gone very still in the small room. Ken was studying the surface of his desk and looked very pale. Gandolph was considering Bill and scratching his beard. Bill was surprised that there seemed to be look of sadness in his eyes. Or pity. Bill couldn't quite place it.

“Let's just hope that you don't, Mr. Ganns,“ he said quietly. “but if there is any way for us to help you in that event, we'll make it.”

Bill did not like the sound of that. It sounded like they would leave him hanging out to dry if push came to shove. He shrugged. It wasn't unheard of. They were counting on his ability to keep him out of trouble. And he knew damned good and well that he could count on himself to pull off a break-in. Provided that they actually had ll of the facts that they said they did.

“Before I actually say yes to anything further, do you think that I can see something solid? Blueprints? The security layout you were talking about? Something?”

Ken smiled. “No problem, let's get started.”

 


	5. Archives

#  ** Archives **

They left the office and went back into the tech area. Ken shook a few hands and talked in a low voice with a couple of the men working there. Bill caught his name being said a couple of times, and some quick and curious glances from some of the mobster-looking guys. Ken guided one of them away from his work and walked him over to Bill, his hand around his shoulder.

“Bill Ganns, I'd like you to meet my second-in-command of this little endeavor. Barry Lynnn.” The guy was a lot older than Ken and wore a tightly shaved white beard. He had eyes that smiled without any additional effort and had an air of wisdom about him that Bill was instantly impressed by. He shook his head. If he could  _ever_ figure out how the fuck some guys could just pull that off at first glance....shit, he could get in anywhere he wanted.

He shook Bill's hand firmly and grinned. “I've heard a lot about you already, Bill. I'm very pleased that you could join us.” He let go and flexed his shoulders, his chest puffing out a bit. With a mischievous wink in Ken's direction, he added; “Very pleased indeed.”

“That'll be enough of that, Mr. Lynn,” Ken gruffly answered. Bill knew that the old man was getting one over on Ken, but for the life of him, he couldn't follow the joke. “Bill here needs to have a look at the security schematics of the vault.”

“A little light reading, huh? Well, it's your funeral,” Barry said amiably. Bill smiled back involuntarily. It was frikkin' contagious with this guy.

“How bad could it be, Mr. Lynn?”, he asked lightly.

Mr: Lynn frowned a bit. “Please, just call me Barry, everyone except Ken here and the good constable do. And the vault data, oh hell, son, Ken didn't warn you?” He shot a stern and rebuking look at Ken. Ken actually seemed a bit embarrassed. Bill got the instant impression of an almost father and son relationship between them. He took a closer look. Nah. Barry was old enough to be his father sure, but there was no family resemblance.

Ken was rubbing a hand around the back of his neck. “Telling him about it wouldn't have helped. He's going to have to go through it at one point, regardless.”

“Yeah, sure, but you could've a least tipped the guy off.” Barry sighed. “It's through here, kid, and I'm sorry....honestly.”

Bill swallowed hard. Whatever was up with the vault data, it must've been pretty effin' serious. He hoped that he could figure it out.

Barry led the group to a side door marked 'Archives' and punched in a key code. He didn't do so well hiding the combination, though. Bill marked it in his head.

The door opened and an automatic fluorescent came on. Bill stood in the doorway for a second and let the lights flicker all of the way on. He then understood the apology that Barry had just given him.

There were literally dozens of metal folding tables lined up in a long room. There were also metal shelves shoved up against the wall. Stacked onto the table and shelves were books, printouts, and boxes literally overflowing with paper. Bill whistled appreciatively.

“You guys weren't kidding about collecting data,” he smiled. “I don't get it, though,” said, turning around. “What's with all the computer shit if all of your info is analog?”

Barry smiled sympathetically. “Those computers are just to deal with the problem of locating the vault itself and then getting through some of the security measures that we've ben able to identify so far. The database is as full of as much of the 'analog' research in here as we had time to enter ourselves. But, because of the rather, er, sensitive nature of the data here, we couldn't just hire out temps to do the data entry, so there's a lot missing. We don't have the time, so here it stays,” he finished, holding his palm out to the room.

Bill groaned as a horrible thought dawned on him. “Lemme guess,” he started meekly. “I haveta sort through all of this shit just to get the security rundown?” He took another apprehensive look around the room. Fittingly, a book fell off of a shelf right at that moment with a deep thud. Dust rose up in a slow moving puff. Bill's eyes narrowed. He glared back at Inspector Gandolph, who was lounging in the hallway just outside of the entrance to the Archives.

“Level fucking five, Inspector. Level fucking five.” Gandolph raised his eyebrows in amusement and gave him a cheery smile. Bill rolled his eyes and turned back to the Herculean task in front of him.

“It's not as bad as all that, Bill,” Barry said, clapping him lightly on the shoulder. “You'll have some time, and more than enough peace and quiet for your research. Plus, two  _very_ valuable assets to assist you in your endeavor.” Barry moved past Bill into the room and disappeared behind one of the large bookshelves. After a second or two, he poked his head back out and beckoned him in with a wave. Bill sighed and followed. Around the corner of the shelf, Barry was standing and smiling triumphantly, his hands held out like a game-show host in front of a new car.

“All the help you're going to need,” he said, eyes gleaming.

Bill groaned again, but smiled despite himself. In the corner behind Barry was an old coffee machine. It was stained beyond belief. There were about two hundred stacked styrofoam cups and a rickity old TV table stand next to it . The table was piled high with creamer packages and packets of sugar. All the help he needed....

“What was the second valuable asset that you talked about then, Barry? A cot?” Bill quipped sarcastically.

Barry looked a bit embarrassed all of a sudden, and he rubbed a hand behind his neck. “Well, actually...I,” he started.

“Only after a little time has passed, Bill,” Ken said from behind him. Bill jumped a bit. Ken had moved into the room and was standing right next to him. He was as quiet as a cat for a big guy. Normally, Bill had a pretty good sense of when someone was invading his personal space. This frikkin' guy had just snuck into the same room with him and walked right up to him without Bill noticing a thing. Impressive. And a bit scary, Bill thought.

“Whatever you say Ken. So, when do I get started?”

  
  


***

 

Bill's days t ended to blend into one another for the next few weeks as he developed a regular routine. They had rooms there in the basement levels of the King's Cellar. Not bad digs, either. TV and everything. The whole crew basically stayed and worked there, making occasional trips 'above ground' to the club to keep up appearances. Bill got the names of a few of them.  Dwayne Lynn, for example, was Barry's younger brother. He was so unlike his sibling it was unbelievable. Bill had actually seen him before in the club that first night and had thought he was just hired muscle. He was built like a tank and always wore a perpetual glare. Turned out he was part of the 'leadership' group, but the only thing that Bill could imagine him being used for was to pull out people's teeth with his bare hands. He said as much to Barry. And also that Dwayne scared him a little bit.

"Gently as a lamb, in truth, as long as he's not actively in a fight," Barry grinned at him. "He even plays the violin in his spare time. Not that badly, either."

There were several other crew members that Bill met briefly during meals or as he passed them in the halls. There was Kyle, a tactician who would supposedly be helping with the actual break in once Bill was up to speed on the security systems. Bill liked him, he had something going on behind his eyes. Deeper thought going on there. Bill liked that type, they were good on a team because they were rarely caught off guard, an invaluable asset. His brother Fin, or 'Philly', as he liked to be called, was the head of the lookout group . His team would keep an eye out for response teams, both from the actual police and any local security. Team security was handled by a kid who called himself D. Ray. He looked too thin to be a threat in a fight and Bill had guessed Dwayne would have been in charge of that team, but he heard that the guy was some kind of freakishly strong, and had apparently already collected a few different black belts before he was twenty-one. There were a few others in the team leader roles, but nobody that Bill needed to be concerned about, except maybe the bathtub-shaped demolitions expert. The guy didn't seem too bright to Bill. He never caught his real name, but he insisted that everyone call him "Bomber". Not the most original nickname of all time. A demolitions expert needed to be detail oriented and competent, or the whole thing could go sour really fast. Barry and Ken at least thought that Bomber would be able to handle his part when the time came, but Bill wasn't so sure. They guy never seemed to be working, unless it was strategizing as to how to empty out the dining room table faster. Total fucking slob. Still, if Ken had him on the team, there had had to be some reason. Bill tried not to ask too many questions about it. Mostly he was left alone to the myriad books, maps, schematics and other assorted information in his archive room. Ken never really came around to check on him,and Bill was surprised to find that that disappointed him. He wasn't all that lonely or anything, truth be told, he preferred this kind of work; the build up and preparation before the actual score. And it was quiet in a room full of books. Bill liked quiet. Added to the fact that this time he was getting paid for it, well, that made it all that much better. He just found Ken really interesting was all. A puzzle. And Bill was crazy for puzzles.

The most contact he had with the team came from Barry, who stopped by a few times a day to check in on him. Bill liked him and all, he w as a pleasant enough guy to talk to, but he kept giving Bill this weird sad stare, like he was a fucking cancer patient on his last legs or something. Barry tried to hide it, but Bill caught it several times out of the corner of his eye or with a quick glance up from his reading. It gave Bill the creeps.

So did the reading.

The shit that Bill found at the top of the stacks of papers was pretty much exactly as he expected. Room maps and blueprints of the vault, entrances and exits, dimensions of the various rooms. Pretty normal, except for the sheer size of the vault itself. It was like a city, as far as Bill could make out from the incomplete floor plans. It had one main chamber that Bill figured out was the one they had on the virtual reality display. Bill confirmed it by having them turn it back on for him a few times while he cross-checked it against the maps. He could tell by the bored looks on the technicians' faces that they had done this several times already. But Bill needed the whole picture for himself, not someone else's fucking version of it. His instincts were right as -to more annoyed looks from the technicians -he found some mistakes in their virtual rendering and had them fix it. Fuck 'em, every detail was important.

There was a section of schematics and drawings for some locking mechanisms that Bill read through as well. The locks themselves didn't seem too intricate, just strange. The material used was often times old untempered steel or even, oddly, stone gears. Nothing he couldn't get through, but he had never seen configurations like them before. He'd deal with them as he came to them. He jotted down notes for each one that he had found and moved on.

It started getting even stranger then. He had dug out a section of books seemingly only dedicated to genealogies and family trees. Some of the documents were pretty damned old, and came close to breaking apart in his hands as he handled them. For the life of him, Bill couldn't figure out what the shit it had to do with the vault or it's security, but it was in the archives, so he leafed through it anyway. It was right about that time that the hairs on the back of his neck started to stand up, and he felt eyes watching him.

Bill had scouted the room several times in his first day there for hidden cameras, and found jack.  The room itself was larger than it looked and Bill had found lots of nooks and crannies, even a couple of hidden hallways and doors that were not visible at first due to shelves being in the way, but no surveillance.

But, in his experience, whenever that he felt like someone was watching him, then someone was definitely fucking watching him. He had pretended not to notice and stood up with the pretense of getting some more coffee. He had then spun quickly on his heel halfway to the machine and saw a blur of some kind of movement behind one of the shelves. It was barely there. Could've been anything. A paper falling down, a rat, anything. Bill had squinted hard and walked directly to the row that he had seen it, but found nothing. He had shrugged and went back to work. The next day, when it happened again, the hairs on his neck kept standing up long after he was sure whoever it was had gone. He made several more thorough circuits of the room after that and looked for cubby holes or seams where someone could be hiding, but found nothing. Well, next to nothing. There was an odd smell in the air that Bill couldn't exactly place. It reminded him of tuna fish. He made a mental note to stay alert, maybe he'd catch a break and see who or what it was. Probably rats, he figured. There were more than a few down here.

The genealogy data was pretty boring, tracked back a long time, though. Longer than Bill cared to look. He asked Barry about it, and he seemed surprised that it had been in there in the first place.

“Let me have a look here,“ Barry had exclaimed, moving behind the desk and flipping carefully through the titles. “Hmmm, yes, yes....I have no idea how this got here, Bill, sorry. Obviously, this has nothing to do with the vault or it's security. I'll have it moved out.”

Bill shook his head no. He had detected something in Barry's reaction. Almost fear. There was something there that he didn't want him reading. Something he hadn't expected Bill to find. This crew had lots of secrets, and the chance to uncover one of them.... _that_ , that was real gold.

“Thanks all the same, Barry, I'll handle it myself,” he replied, acting uninterested. If Barry insisted now, it would be too obvious. Bill watched him carefully as Barry moved a bit uncomfortably away from the reading table. His eyes never left the stack of books.

“Ok, sure thing, Bill,” he said slowly. “Are you sure?”, he asked carefully. Bill caught his eyes dart back to the books once more and made a mental note to get this guy in a poker game sometime. His tells were obvious.

“Sure, Barry, I'll just stack them in the corner tonight.”

Barry smiled wanly and headed for the door. He paused for a second as if considering something and turned back.

“Bill? Remember that second valuable asset that I mentioned a few weeks ago?”

Bill looked up. He had actually not forgotten. It was on his list of strange, half-finished conversations that the crew loved to have. He shrugged.

“Yeah?”

“I think it might be time. Tomorrow morning, first thing.” He gave him that pitying look again and shut the door.


	6. Very Old Enemies

#  ** Very Old Enemies **

Bill tossed and turned that night. He remembered waking up in a cold sweat a few times, but the second he tried to remember the nightmares he was having, he could only recall a penetrating cold that he couldn't place, darkness, and pale yellow eyes watching him from somewhere in that dark.

He got out of bed way too early and headed straight for the gym that they had in the complex. He usually never went to one, even when he was on the 'outside', but he was unexplainably stressed out, and not just from the lost sleep. He felt pent-up, like he wanted to hit something. The gym was good for that - they had a heavy bag.

He opened the door and walked in, draping a towel over his shoulder. He headed for the bag in the corner when he heard the loud metallic clink of a bar being returned to the rack.  _What the fuck?_ , he thought. It was only 6 a.m.. Who the hell was in the gym this frikkin' early?  _Well, you, for one, idiot_ , he groused to himself and looked around.

Sitting up on the bench and watching him carefully was Ken. He had his shirt off and was glistening with sweat. He was sweatpants and had a towel draped over his shoulder. Bill was instantly mesmerized with the deep breaths Ken was taking before he remembered himself and shook his head quickly.

“Um, hi there Ken. I thought it'd be empty at this hour. Sorry if I scared you.”

Ken's eyes crinkled a little as a small smile crossed his face. “Scared me? No, Bill. You didn't scare me.”

Bill let out a huff and walked briskly to the heavy bag, deliberately trying  _not_ to look at Ken's massive shoulders and muscled chest. He grabbed a pair of gloves off the rack, put on the right one and started lacing them up. He grabbed the string in his teeth and pulled to tighten it when he noticed that Ken had gotten up and walked over to him.

“Here, let me help you with that,” Ken said. “Real pain in the ass to do it yourself.”

Bill nodded, he was very aware of himself, and especially of all of the things that he could  _not_ afford to let slip.

“ 'Preciate it, Ken,” he managed to say evenly.

Ken looked up and smiled. “No problem, Bill. How's the research coming?”

Bill gave him a wry smile. “What, Barry doesn't report to you daily?”, he asked sarcastically.

Ken let out a chuckle. “See? Good instincts. I knew there was a reason I hired you.”

Bill swallowed, smiling and stepping back, checking the laces on the gloves before he moved to the bag. He took a few hard practice swings, but the stress was seemingly even  _worse_ than before. He peered around the bag at Ken, who was standing there with his arms crossed, head to the side, his gaze intent.

“I guess it should really be me asking that question then, huh Ken?”, Bill smiled before taking a few stronger swings.

Ken looked down, smiling. “Yeah, well, it goes both ways, to be sure,” he looked back up. “Barry says you've ripped through the files like a tornado. You've even managed to uncover some things that we had no idea were down there.” There was a meaningful pause before he continued. “So, I figure by now you've got some pretty serious questions to ask.”

Bill frowned and took a few really hard swings at the bag, the dull thud echoing in the room. Ken moved over and held it steady for him. He jabbed at it a couple of times and took a small breather, already getting winded. Jesus, he was out of shape.

“Yeah, no big shocker there, Ken. Yeah. Yeah, I got some questions,” he replied, surprised at the impatience that had crept into his voice.

Ken raised his eyebrows, waiting. Bill gathered himself up and let out a flurry of punches before moving around the bag to stand right in front of Ken.

“What's with all of the goddamned rock gears and oiled mechanism crap? That shit listed there is straight out of a Indiana Jones movie.” He let out some hard breaths and watched Ken's reaction carefully. He needed to spot any tells. He was tired of all of the secrets they were keeping from him and needed to know when he was being lied to and about what specific subjects.

Ken looked up at the ceiling for a second before answering. “Well, obviously, the Vault is extremely old, Bill. Some of the older safeguards are still there. Some of them have been upgraded.”

“Yeah, seen that,” Bill grumbled. “What the fuck is 'S.M.O.G. Security” anyway? Never heard of that company.”

Ken gritted his teeth hard. “Safeguard Mechanism Onsite Guardian Security....yeah, them. A pain in our backside, Bill, that's what they are. They keep the Vault as unaccessible as possible, and have done so for literally millennia. They are constantly upgrading, and constantly innovating. You can imagine just how devious those systems are now. Hell, Bill, you've probably read every single one of them by now. Just tell me,  _is_ there a way past them?”

Bill watched him. There was actually a genuine look of concern and... _sadness_ on Ken's face. He was, to Bill's surprise, desperate. Bill had the feeling that he might be their last chance. Damn.  _Maybe they really should have hired someone better after all_ , he thought, feeling suddenly inadequate. He found himself placing a gloved hand on Ken's shoulder.

“Nah, actually, Ken, the more modern shit is not really anything I haven't seen before. That's why I asked about the old-school crap. I need to see some of that stuff up close before I figure out if I can actually crack them or not, and there's no frikkin way to do that without going to the real thing. There's just old drawings and shit, no equipment to test or practice on.”

Ken smiled down at him. There was such a look of relief in his face that Bill found himself spontaneously grinning back. He stopped after a second or two when he thought about what an idiot he probably looked like.

“Actually, Bill, it's the 'modern shit' that's  _our_ biggest problem. The older systems have been scouted and figured out ages ago.”

Bill shrugged, moving back to the bag, hating to break the contact. Shit. “I'd still like to get a look at them, if your boys could whip up a virtual display or something, that'd be a big help.”

Ken sighed and wiped his brow with a towel. “We have a 3D printer stashed somewhere. I'll ask the boys to get right on it.” He started walking towards the showers when he looked back over his shoulder. Bill managed to get his eyes away from Ken's back and on the bag at the very last second. “Did you have any other questions? About,” he paused for good second or two, considering, “the genealogy charts, for example?”

Bill's eyebrows raised and he looked back at Ken. “If it's OK, Ken, yeah.” He waited for a slight go-ahead nod from Ken before continuing. “What  _was_ that stuff doing down there with the Vault data? I mean, it's like,  _your_ family and your team's families listed there. What has that got to do with anything at all?”

Ken's eyes turned steely and he answered immediately. “Almost everything, Bill. Almost everything. I promise to you right now that soon, very soon, I will explain it to you. But you're going to have to be ready to understand. And you're just not there. Not yet.”

Bill held his gaze and finally nodded. “Allright, Ken. You're the boss.”

Ken smiled, nodded back and walked into the shower room. Bill needed a least a minute before he started breathing slowly again, remembering every detail of Ken's sweatpants dropping to the floor.

  
  


***

He went back to the archives after getting dressed and cleaned up and found Barry waiting for him there at his desk. He had that goddamned pitying look on his face again. It was all that Bill could do not to shout “WHAT??!!” at him at the top of his lungs.

Barry must have sensed it, because he immediately changed his expression and stood up, moving around the table to clap Bill on the shoulder.

“So, ready?”, he asked him, his eyebrows raised in expectation.

Bill couldn't resist it this time. “For what, Barry? Does anyone here ever speak in anything but half-finished sentences? For fuck's sake, tell me what it is you're so worked up about!” 

Barry looked a bit taken aback, and Bill immediately regretted shouting at him. But he was still frustrated and wanted an answer to his question, so he didn't say anything, waiting Barry out.

“No, Bill, I suppose you're right. Sorry,” Barry answered, his composure returning. “Of course you'd have no idea what I'm 'all worked up about'. How could you?”, he asked rhetorically.

“Let's get on with it then. I would like to introduce you to that other 'help' that I mentioned a couple of weeks ago. He's responsible for assembling most of the data that we have down here, and setting up the Archive itself. He's one hell of a record-keeper and historian and can be an invaluable asset to your research. Er...he's a bit...um...different, Bill. Maybe that's why I've been so apprehensive towards you- I was afraid of how you two would get along is all...anyway, I'd like to introduce you to Mr. McCollum.”

Barry held out his hands to the stacks and Bill followed the gesture with his eyes. There was no one there. He looked back at Barry, who kept his hand out, waiting. Bill watched the tension build up in Barry's face.

“Mr. McCollum?”, Barry called out, his voice louder. When there was no response, Barry's shoulders slumped, and he mumbled something incoherent to himself. He looked up at Bill with more than a hint of nervousness in his eyes.

“Sorry Bill,” he said, amiably enough. “Warned you, though. Strange one.” He coughed dryly into a closed fist. “Be right back.”

Barry moved quickly around the nearest shelf and Bill immediately heard a shuffling noise from the other side, then hushed and hurried whispers. There was some kind of an argument going on on the other side of the bookcase that he wasn't supposed to hear. Eventually, the hushed tones stopped, and Barry came back around, grinning apologetically. 

“Once again, sorry Bill, here's Mr. McCollum.”

A small head poked around the corner. Bill squinted. It was an older guy with big eyes and wispy hairs on a mostly bald and mottled pate. He moved carefully around the corner of the shelf until he was all of the way around it. He was wearing a wrinkled three piece suit with slightly beat up shoes. He was openly staring at Bill for a few seconds until Barry nudged him with a shoulder. At that, Mr. McCollum strode forward, offering his hand and at the same time affecting an exaggerated and too-wide grin.

“Of course, of course, so nice to finally meet you....” McCollum said, stopping in front of Bill. His voice had a hissing quality to it, the 's's and 'c's were slightly drawn out. He stood a bit sideways from Bill as well, as if he was ready to bolt at any second. His eyes were large and round. Just being near the guy already gave Bill the creeps. Still, if they were supposed to be working together.....

“Nice to meet you too, Mr. McCollum. Any help whatsoever in this place is really....” Bill stopped, his nose wrinkling. He smelled something on McCollum. Like....

“Tuna fish...”, Bill muttered.

McCollum cocked his head to the side, not understanding. He then looked back at Barry, who was standing there literally wringing his hands. At Bill's last exclamation he stopped and shrugged his shoulders nervously. McCollum looked back at Bill, who was watching him intently.

“You smell a little like a tuna fish sandwich, if you don't mind my saying so, Mr. McCollum. You like those?”

McCollum straightened up and literally scratched his head in puzzlement. “Yes, I do, actually. But it is a strange thing to say to another one, yes? A strange question to ask...”

Bill leaned forward. “Well now. Seems to me we're not exactly strangers then, are we? It was  _you_ that's been sneaking around here watching me for the past month.”

McCollum's eyes widened. “Sneaking? I don't know what you're talking about Ganns.” The way he pronounced Bill's last name made his skin crawl.

“Oh yes you do, “Bill snarled back. He looked up at Barry, who was moving quickly in between the two of them. “I've been hearing shit for the past month, Barry. Someone watching me and running away at the last goddamned second. And every single time that happened, the place stank like tuna. This guy's been down here the whole time spying on me? What the hell's going on here, Barry?”

McCollum moved a bit behind Barry, treating him a bit like a shield. Barry looked at him and frowned. “Is that right, Mr. McCollum? Were you watching him?”

McCollum turned even paler than he already was. “Of course not....he lies,” he hissed. “He thinks he's clever. Tuna fish. Tuna fish! He's just a stinking little thief, just like his whole family. All thieves,” he spat out the last acidly, raw and unadulterated hatred entering his big eyes as he looked at Bill.

Bill practically sprang forward. “What the hell you say about my family, you little...??!!”

Barry moved physically between the two of them and held Bill back with a palm in his chest. The old guy was a hell of lot stronger than Bill had figured. He was seeing red at the moment, but Barry was able to hold him back easily.

Barry gave him a final firm shove and Bill stood back, chest heaving and fists balled. McCollum had practically retreated back to the shelves. Barry spun towards him. “McCollum, we  _warned_ you. We made it perfectly clear that old family debts were _not_ to be settled here. Did you not hear me?”

McCollum looked up at him with big eyes and then seemed to regain his composure. “So, I was watching him, yes? I needed to know, yes? I mean, how can you expect me to work with one of  _his_ kind?”

Bill took another step forward. “My kind? What the fuck is your problem man? I don't know you from Adam!”

Barry held out a hand, waving it for him to settle down. “I'm sorry Bill. This is exactly what I was  _not_ wanting to happen.” He shot a withering glance at McCollum, who shrank back behind the bookshelf again. “Long story short; your ancestors and his, they have a bad history. A  _very_ bad history. And like I said before, Mr. McCollum is a record keeper and also a historian. This kind of thing is extremely important to him, more than I figured, apparantly. I thought he could get past it, though, considering the job we're on. I was wrong.” His shoulders visibly fell forward in defeat as he let out a long sigh. He shook his head slowly. “I'm going to straighten this shit out, Bill, of that, you can be certain. In the meantime, take some time off,” Barry straightened back up and gave him that addictive smile. “You haven't been topside in awhile, right? Get outta here. Come back in a couple of days. Have fun, it'll do some good, trust me. I'll let Ken know.”

Bill let out a long breath and relaxed a bit. This was way up there on his strange shit-o-meter, but if anyone could sort it out, it was Barry Lynn. He'd only known him a short time, but with straight-shooters like him, there were always things that you could count on.

“If it's all the same to you, Barry, I got nothing up there that's gonna help. I'm on the job. This  _is_ my life right now. I'll get back to my research, if you can keep that guy in check for me.”

Barry smiled weakly. “You sure?” Bill nodded and Barry nodded back in understanding. “Allright. Like I said, me and Mr. McCollum are going to have some words. This won't happen again, Bill, I promise.”

Bill smiled back. “Thanks Barry. Best news I've heard in awhile.”


End file.
